I was silent. And then I nodded.
“Not every family is suited for this ordeal,” Danielle said.
“I keep calling it a process.”
“That’s sweet but inaccurate. It’s an ordeal. It will test you and Kyle”—I was impressed she remembered his name, since he wasn’t there; we’d decided I would screen the consultants first since he was traveling so much—“in ways you can’t imagine. I understand you’re already blessed with a daughter. That will be held against you, eventually. They’ll argue an infant should go to a family without children. Or they’ll realize you are”—WERE, I thought, WERE—“a successful songwriter and the bribes will rise. Someone will try to be an obstacle to you, and when that happens, you must do as I say. If you can’t follow my instructions, then I will be wasting your money. And you’ll get your heart broken. And I don’t want to do that. If you want this baby, truly want this baby, then you’ll do as I say. Do you really want this child?”
Well…did I? I hadn’t expected this question. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I loved Julia more than I had ever thought possible. When your child is sick, really sick, it either focuses you or breaks you. With me, it gave focus. But at the same time, it expanded my capacity for love, just as Julia’s birth had. Growing up, it was just me and my mom. I was loved. I thought I knew what love was when I met and fell for Kyle. And then again, even more so, when Julia was born. I didn’t know I had so much love in me; it just had to be unlocked. Kyle and I had so much more to give. The answer was clear. I was almost shaking, and I steadied my voice.
“Never ask me,” I said, “how much I will love this baby.”
10
Iris
It’s been a long day. The second longest day of her life.
When she and Julia get home from the police, they find Kyle a complete mess: face bruised, blackened eye, cuts on his temple and ear, nose swollen, lip cut. He’s cleaned himself up, but he looks like he went two rounds in a boxing ring and lost.
“I fell down the slope. I did a faceplant all the way down into the creek,” he says. “I was running.”
“You went for a run?” Iris can’t keep her voice from rising in anger. “I asked you to stay here with Grant…”
“Grant was fine,” he says. “We all deal with this in different ways, all right, Iris? All right? I feel bad enough as it is.”
Julia stares at him. “Dad…” And he encloses her in a hug, being Dad, being there for her now.
“Where is Ned?” he asks.
“He’s at Mike’s house.”
Julia makes a face. “I know why he’s there. I just hope Peter’s not being a jerk to him.” Peter is Mike’s son, a moody, quiet senior who prefers the company of computers to people.
“I’m sure Peter’s being good to him,” Iris says.
The four of them seem lost today, sitting in the den, looking at each other. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” Iris says, pointing at Kyle’s face.
“Please let’s not make a production of this,” Kyle says. “We have enough to deal with today.”
So they retreat from one another. Julia doesn’t want to talk about it—at least with them—and she cuddles up on the couch with her mom. Iris puts on Julia’s favorite comfort movie, The Wizard of Oz (the high school did it for their musical last year, and Julia was an Emerald City resident), and they watch it together. Grant goes up to his room; Iris thinks he’s preoccupied. Or he’s having trouble processing this shock. She feels like Julia, having suffered the more direct trauma, needs her more right now. Kyle tries to get Grant to join him in the media room, to watch ESPN, but the boy’s curled up on his bed and politely declines.
The phone rings. A lot. Friends and neighbors calling, eager for information, some wanting gossip, others wanting to give comfort. The day bleeds away. Kyle looks in the mirror often, and Iris watches him.
She’s not sure she believes his story. But why would anyone punch her husband in the face?
Kyle doesn’t meet her gaze. He naps while they finish the movie. Julia tries texting Ned as the credits roll and gets a half-hearted answer, but now Julia’s full attention is on the phone, on Ned’s few words. Iris goes to the front window and watches the police officers go in and out of Danielle’s house.
Kyle has offered to cook dinner, which Iris both appreciates and resents. She could have used the meditative quiet of making something simple, and she wants to be the one to comfort her hurting family. She watches Kyle putter with pots and pans and jars: he’s making spaghetti with a meat sauce, salad, and garlic toast. He glances at her and takes out a wineglass, pouring her some of the Chianti he’s opened. It feels wrong to enjoy wine with Danielle dead, but they both could use a drink.
“Thanks,” Iris says. She takes the wine and walks to the window. Mike and Ned are now at Danielle’s with the police. She’d offered Ned a place to stay, with them, but she feels she said it the wrong way. As though he heard in her tone that she didn’t want him to say yes. Ned thanked her but said he would stay at Mike’s house. So she texted another volunteer-minded mom in the neighborhood, who set up a meal schedule online and linked it to the Winding Creek Faceplace page. Already it’s full, people wanting to help. Ned and Mike are set for dinner tonight; the Harpers are bringing them chicken casserole. She hopes they will eat. She will take them dinner tomorrow night. She wonders if she can hover then for a moment, find out what the police have said and are saying to Mike and Ned, learn something.
Julia has folded in on herself. She’s up in her room, on her phone. Texting, but not Ned, not for the moment. Her daughter has achieved a weird kind of celebrity in the past few hours. Julia says that Ned’s friends have rallied around him, although they’re mostly boys who don’t seem to know what to do other than tell him how sorry they are and ask what they can do for him. But Ned told them Julia was with him, and now Julia tells her that kids she doesn’t even know well are texting her for details.
“Julia!” she calls up the stairs. Julia, after a few moments, appears.
“Will you bring me your phone?”
“Why?”
Because I asked. Because I’m your mother. But instead she says, “I want a log of everyone who is contacting you about this. It could be of interest to the police.” But she really just wants to know what’s on her daughter’s mind.
“Why would the police care?”
“Because they might. I saw that on a Law & Order episode.”
“That’s made-up stuff.”
Iris holds her hand out for the phone, end of discussion. “I’m not going to read your messages.”
“Yeah, right. I haven’t answered anyone except to say I can’t talk about it. I’m not an idiot, Mom.”
“I know you’re not.”
Julia comes down the stairs and, with a sigh, hands her mother the phone. It has been a horrifying day, but this moment of normal teen resentment feels like a reassurance that Julia, despite the trauma, is going to be all right. Won’t she? Won’t she get over what she saw?